Aches of a Young Artist
by LTP-girl
Summary: Amidst the turmoil of her young adulthood, Jane discovers a friend and lover in someone she least expected.


**DeMartino reminds me of Al Pacino in the movie City Hall, so sorry those of you who **_**don't**_** think he's hot:p **

Disclaimer: I do not own _Daria_ and its characters

Aches of a Young Artist

Jane sat staring into the glowing and crackling fireplace, contemplating the somewhat magical evening she had shared with whom she had thought to be the most interesting man she had ever met. It was interesting how you could be in the same room with somebody day-in-day-out for the past four years without really _knowing_ them. He was an iceberg of sorts to say the least. What made this a truly special evening was that there had been no raised voices, no eye bulging, and certainly no Kevin or Brittany to set this his nerves on edge. She felt at ease with this man for once, and considered the dinner they had just shared very pleasant indeed. She wondered if this mere friendly dinner would progress into something else, when her thoughts had been broken by a shadow merging into her peripheral vision.

Anthony reached for the raven haired beauty's hand. "Do you know how to tango, Miss. Lane?"  
Jane set her glass of wine down on the coffee table, laughing nervously. "No!"  
"Come on, I'll teach you."  
"I don't want you to teach me," she retorted. "After a few more glasses of wine, maybe."  
Before she could say anything more, Anthony had pulled her off the couch and to her feet with his strong arms, and had dipped her to the side.  
She squealed with excitement as well as surprise.  
"It's easy," he told her.  
"That's easy for you to say, Mr. DeMartino. I bet you've been dancing for years, you're so old!"  
"Oh, don't be cruel," he sulked as if the world was about to end, jokingly of course. He pulled her upright and placed her hands in the correct position. He raised his left hand and clasped onto her right, and wrapped his right arm around her, then placed his hand on her back, centring it slightly below her shoulder blades.  
Jane stared down at both their feet, not knowing what to do. She had never danced like this before, and was embarrassed by her lack of experience and culture that came with her youth.  
"The man leads, so all you have to do is follow me," he explained. "Now, when I put my leg forward, you move yours back. Understand?"  
"I think so."  
He proceeded to guide her around his lounge room. "There's no mistakes in the tango, sweethawt. You just need the right teacher." He pulled her a little closer towards him, until their torsos were pressing together. "You've got to really focus on the sensuality of it more than anything else."  
Jane had been looking down at the floor the whole time.  
"Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow. That's right, you're catching on."  
She realised that History wasn't the only thing that Mr. DeMartino could teach, and had found herself becoming very hot and bothered. He spoke in his usual South Bronx accent, deep and gravelly, which Jane normally associated with a mob gangster and had never thought of as sexy, until tonight.  
"Look up at me Jane, you've got the hang of it now," he said, and as soon as she did as he asked, she had stopped dancing and he'd stood on her stationary foot.  
"Ow!"  
"Sorry," he apologised. "You've got to keep moving, sweethawt."  
She felt uncomfortable by his penetrating stare as they moved swiftly together along the carpeted floor.  
A devilish smile crept upon his face. "Am I making you blush, Miss. Lane?" he teased. "Why, I'm touched by your sensibilities to my gentlemanly charm."  
He twirled her around in a circle, before dipping her once more, and dragged her up towards him. He pulled her even closer this time, while his hands travelled down her back and rested on her hips.  
She jumped in response to his quick change in tune.  
He allowed his lips to lightly graze hers. "I would like for you to call me Anthony tonight," he said softly, as he moulded her pert cheeks with a mischievous glint in his eye, hands lingering dangerously below her waist. "If that's alright with you? And I'll call you Jane, Miss. Lane?"  
She nodded in agreement. "You're a dirty old man, Mr. D," she said, her voice husky and eyes dark, with sudden heated desire. "I like it." She had felt his warm breath on her skin, and was compelled to reciprocate by playfully slipping her tongue inside his mouth.  
After many more gasps and trodden toes, Anthony carried Jane upstairs to his bedroom, and placed her gently on the king sized bed in the middle of the room. While he removed his shoes, she took a moment to examine the room. She noticed that it had been decorated with dark mahogany, and the large bed had a deep green bedspread, with matching velvet curtains, hanging open. The surroundings felt warm and protective, which suited him well.  
He lay next to her, and she was the first to make a move as she climbed on top of him, and started kissing him softly.  
She placed the palms of her hands on his chest as the kiss became a little more heated, his face now covered in patches of her crimson red lipstick.  
"Oh Jane," he murmured breathlessly, his lungs tired from the dancing and climbing the stairs with Jane in his arms, as well as the half a packet of cigarettes he had smoked between classes that day. "You could send a lot of men to their graves happy with those lips."  
She smiled wickedly, as she began unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a thick golden chain that descended below his chest.  
_You Italian men sure like your jewellery. _  
"Have you got protection?" she asked him somewhat nervously, with a wide smile.  
"Yeah, the top drawer," he instructed, directing her towards it with a nod.  
She reached over the bed to open the drawer and rummaged until she came across a packet of rubbers, and checked the date on it to ensure they were fresh.  
At that moment, Jane had become startled by a sudden heaviness at the end of the bed, almost dropping the packet onto the floor. She turned around to see a black and white cat with long thick fur kneading into the folded quilt placed at the end of the bed, glaring at her, almost accusingly, with its beady eyes.  
"Aw Anthony, I didn't know you had a kitty," she said adoringly, reaching over to pet it.  
The cat did not take to her friendly advances, and swiped her aggressively with its paw and hissed, saliva flying from its mouth.  
She had moved her hand away quickly enough so that the cat did not scratch her.  
Anthony chuckled. "Don't mind Samson. He's a misogynist who just needs some enlightening." He signalled for the cat to come to him, which it did.  
Samson sat in Anthony's lap purring, as he stroked his thick fur.  
Anthony picked up a brush from his nightstand and handed it to Jane. "Try brushing Samson, he likes that."  
"I've always wanted a cat growing up, but my parents didn't allow it because my brother's allergic." Jane started brushing Samson's fur lightly, careful not to pull any tangles, and then he seemed to think the woman Anthony had brought into his bedroom wasn't so bad after all.  
Anthony was surprised to hear what Jane said about her parents taking such precautions towards her brother's allergies, given the history of a neglectful childhood Jane had rhapsodised to him about over dinner.  
Jane looked up at him, the moisture of his eyes glistening in the dim light. "You know, it's weird that your cat's name's Samson," she said, continuing to brush his soft fur with her legs crossed as she sat on Anthony's bed.  
"Oh, and why's that?" Anthony wanted to know.  
Samson was now curled up and fast asleep in Jane's lap. "I had a rat called Delilah when I was a kid," she explained.  
He cupped her cheek in his warm hand, catching her dark blue eyes with his. "Ah, then this must be fate."

**A/N: What do you think, should I continue this? Not many DeMartino stories on here I've noticed:/**


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